“Again,” he growls, temper coming from the tone as he pulls back a little with his hand and then drives it in again. It’s push and pull, his hand forging me on to get his cock deeper as I hold any breath I have left. On and on it goes, his balls slapping my chin, as I get comfortable with the position. “Fuck,” he growls, followed by another groan as his hand twists and turns, flicking my clit and winding me into a frenzy. It’s all I can do to stay still as my backside screams for more from him. It writhes and turns, egging him in deeper, all the time trying to keep my head still to accommodate him. A spank comes so hard I shunt onto him again, barely able to stop my eyes watering from the impact. And then it lands again, and again, until I’m gagging constantly, unable to stop the need to vomit rising through me.
“Keep going,” he spits at me, his hips beginning to fuck into me like he’s about to come. And the fucking groan that comes with it, the feral intensity of its sound in the room as I squirm and offer my arse at him again, that alone makes me want to come. I want to shout harder at him, want to feel the sensation of coming by spanking alone. I know it’s there. I felt it with that other Dom, and when the next one lands on my skin, driving me onto his cock again, I know why. It rises through me, sending chills across my spine as his fingers brush my clit repeatedly. I swallow without thought, edging him further in and not giving a damn if I die or not. I’ll suffocate for this. I don’t’ care. I want him deeper. I need to have him there.
He groans again, his hips stilling against me as he releases my backside and unloads his come in my gullet, the feel of its creamy texture making me nearly come myself. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stay alive with barely any air and relish the intimacy of the moment, but it’s hazy now, unclear, like I’m going to pass out any minute. I snap my gaze up to him, my head shaking in his hold as he applies more pressure to hold me in place. I need air desperately. I find him smirking at me, dead eyes fuelling the look as his fingers drag along my cheeks, holding me close. I tug again, noises coming from my throat as I try to yank from his grasp and jerk. It just makes him hold tighter, amusing himself with my fear as his hands pinch in. So I stop and hold myself still, my body trembling. The reaction makes him soften his hold, letting me inch my head away slowly, the length of him sliding out as I do.
Eventually, I collapse to the floor, hands bracing me off it as I gulp in breaths of air and let saliva cough and splutter from me. I want to cry, vomit and bile rising again as I try to find comfort in what he achieves in me. It’s vile in its own right, disturbing. I’m here, arse in the air as he chuckles above me and finds new ways to humiliate and defile me. It’s enough to have me retching new bile again, another wave of nausea coming before I can swallow it down.
“You let that out and you’ll be in that cage behind you.” I clamp my mouth closed, stopping the small amount of sick from coming through my lips. He means it. I can hear it in his tone as I keep staring at the floor. I’m not even sure why I didn’t end up in the cage before. He’s far stronger than me and could easily force me in there if he wanted. “This is about you earning your rewards and learning to trust. So far, you’re earning well. Don’t fuck it up.” My eyes crawl up his jean covered legs, stopping at the cock that’s still in his hand. He swipes his fingers around it, pulling it back and forth, waking it up again. “Be a good girl and you’ll get more rewards.”
I swallow as I watch his hand, the thought of rewards making me suck back my own vomit rather than risk the thought of going anywhere near a cage. I’m not a dog. I will never be a dog. This might all be new and different, but I’m not a fucking animal to be locked up. Although, it appears I did just do as I was told because of the thought of punishment.
I frown at the thought, pushing myself a little higher as I begin to understand the dynamics at play here. It makes me scan my eyes back to the cage, looking at its still open door. Push and pull. Reward and punishment.
“It’s simpler than you might think,” he says, his finger suddenly on my chin and twisting me back towards him again. “Look at yourself. Look at the blood and bruises. Tell me if you feel them.” He tugs my chin downwards and pushes me back onto my knees, forcing me to see the marks littering my thighs and arms. I gasp immediately, struggling to cope with the images on display as I scuttle backwards. More bile comes up my throat, racing for freedom as I scan limbs covered in colours and welts. I turn my arms, frantically searching for pain. Each and every bruise, and the occasional bite mark, should be causing me horrendous pain, but there isn’t any. I’m sore to touch, swelling ensuring the specific places of his intent, but there’s no real pain, not to concern me anyway.
“Why doesn’t it hurt?”
The question is mumbled rather than asked as I keep searching myself, turning and twisting to see what he’s done to me. I don’t even want an answer from him. I want to find it myself, understand it. Nothing really hurts. There’s no real sense of agony, the sort that should be making me run a mile, screaming for escape.
“Your mind and your body are two different pain centres,” he says softly. It makes me stop my frantic scrabble to look at him. I find a small glimmer of his former persona striking through the heated haze in here as he smiles a little, the creases of his eyes relaxing, He rolls his shoulders around and enjoys the feel of his hand still stroking himself, all the time looking at me with a sense of relaxation taking hold of him. “You’re learning to use them separately, Alana. You will need to with me.”
“But it should…” Hurt. It should hurt. I should be in agony now, ready to call the psych ward and have him, or me, put into a home for the mentally disturbed. I look back at myself, trying to fathom what the hell I’ve just been a part of. “This is insane, Blaine. This isn’t normal.”
“No, it’s not,” he says, a small chuckle coming from his lips as he lowers himself to the floor to sit in front of me. “It’s far from normal. We’re far from normal.” He crosses his legs and smiles again, causing me to look over his perfectly poised frame, nearly panting for more of it on me. “Insane is an interesting word, though. Don’t you think?”
I don’t know what I think. In fact, I’m not even sure if thinking has anything to do with this. “Sadism could be described as insane. It’s certainly an unreasonable need given human evolution. It’s why I’m a psychology professor. It teaches me about people and their desires, offering solutions in my own mind. I’ve spent hours analysing myself, finding a reason. Others, too.” He leans back on his hands, seemingly wanting conversation as he scans over my limbs and smirks occasionally, amused with the evidence of his own desires on my skin.
“You want to talk about this now?” I’m not sure what I should think about that. I’m here, exposed, bloodied and battered, near fucking exhausted if I’m honest, and he wants to talk?
“You asked for dates.”
“This is a date?”
“This is a reward. A prelude to dates.”
“What is rewarding about us having a conversation?”
“You’re in my mind. Ask questions before I fuck you again.” He sits up again, his fingers tapping the floor in front of his crossed legs, a smirk still on his face. “You won’t get the chance often, Alana. Use the time wisely to advance as much knowledge as you can before I close down again. Research.”
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. There are so many questions and for the life of me I can’t think of one. Nothing comes to mind. I feel like I’m barely conscious and he wants to have in depth conversations about sadism and insanity? Jesus. I lean back away from him, trying to find a coherent thought in the midst of this carnage, occasionally looking over my skin for inspiration. “Or you could go in the cage. If you’re not fucking quicker than this you might anyway.”
“I’m exhausted,” I snap out, irritated and tired. I can’t think now. I’ve got nothing left in my mind other than exhaustion and the need for sleep.
“You’re not halfway done yet,” he replies, lifting himself from the floor. “You want the rewards, you’ll wor
k fucking harder.”
Six seconds is all I get between him coming at me, and the instant grab of my hair, yanking me sideways as he starts towards the cage again. My legs scramble, my fingers reaching to push him off as I shout out a ‘no’ in protest, but nothing stops him from dragging me across the floor. That cage is coming whether I like it or not, and there’s no stopping him or his pull on me.
Chapter 2
Alana
I t’s morning again, or perhaps afternoon—I don’t know. Seems I’ve become lost in a fog of clouded judgement and recklessness, neither caring for nor bothered by what I’m becoming. He’s here next to me, his breath easing in and out as if he’s having some peaceful dream while I lie against bloodstained sheets. He fucked me again while I lay in them last night, the weight of his frame pushing me deeper into the blood as he did. I’d like to say it was lovemaking, but it wasn’t, not in the traditional sense of the word anyway. There was barely a sense of connection that I remember, or maybe there was and I was so out of it that I couldn’t quite latch onto it. It was just a sea of fucking, aggressive in nature and barely recognisable as something other people do. It’s certainly not something I’ve written about before now. There was no eye contact after the cage, no lips mingling even. He flipped me around as if I was just a vessel to be inspected and used.
I was left in that cage while he called me every name under the sun, then told me of the things he would do if I wasn’t smarter with my thinking next time, until eventually he got me out and used me for anything else he felt like. It was as feral as the last time and as confusing as the day in my apartment, but still I wanted it, all of it. I didn’t stop him or say no. In fact, I remember my nails digging into him, asking him to devour what was left of me and prove himself right in some way, show me that all of this isn’t wrong, that it’s normal somehow. That the conversation he was beginning, the one that was apparently my reward, a prelude to dates, was reason enough to endure his wrath on my skin.
Dates.
I muse the word to myself as I look around the barely lit room, wondering what kind of dates we’ll go on. It just seems like a hotel room, barren of frills or frivolities. There’s just a bed, some small items of furniture and a tall cupboard in the corner. He said I could have whatever I wanted, that I just have to ask. What that constitutes, I’m not sure. It seems this is becoming a give and take relationship. Reward and punishment. I give him a body to play with and consume, which he takes, and then he gives me some attempt at love in return.
The thought makes me snort as I watch the light from beneath the door peek into the room. Love—what a twisted sentiment for this endeavour of a story. I can’t see the closeness others deem necessary for happiness, but there is still something. It forges a connection that seems disproportionate to familiarity, truer in its representation of intimacy. Whatever it is, it needs more than its current attributes if it’s to go any further than this. It needs a strength it hasn’t quite got yet, irrespective of its bond to my heart.
It takes me a while to slowly ease myself from the bed and drop my feet to the carpeted floor. Everything aches now the room is less heated. The pain has arrived, the same pain that was barely there last night. It’s not like the first time he was inside me. This time it’s enough to make me feel waves of sickness as I attempt standing. Assuming it’s balance, or lack of my pills, or lack of fucking sleep, I try to sit still and let the sensation pass, but it doesn’t. It just carries on as I stare into the blackness and breathe deeply, hoping to right my dizziness. And then I try to push off again, but my calves refuse to cooperate in any way, almost sending me to the floor as they buckle beneath me.
“Stay still,” his husky morning voice says quietly. I turn slightly to look at him as he raises his frame, the sheets slipping from his chest as he does. “I’ll come and help you.” Sweet. One could almost say romantic in some manner, like he isn’t the reason for my agony in the first place. I nod anyway, confused about the appropriateness but thankful for the offer.
He walks slowly past me, showing me hardly anything in the dim light. It makes me realise how little I know of his skin as I watch him go into the bathroom, which immediately makes me want to know more. It riles me that I haven’t been able to peruse him as he has done me, perhaps worship his body if I want. I know nothing of it other than its effect on me. I want to savour it, trail myself around it and taste it. Learn every curve, every muscle. Choose which bit I like best, sense his response to me teasing him.
The thought makes me smile as I watch him wander back out and think of sausages, his cock firmly on display for me to lick again should I want to. I wish I could, but unless he brings it directly to me, I doubt I’m going to be able to do a thing with it.
“Try standing again,” he says, his hand offered out to me as I stare into his eyes. I don’t even know who he is, or why he is. Why did he stop teaching? Not that I could see him teaching young people. It seems so at odds with his brusqueness, but why? I’m here, naked, my body more bruised than it has ever been and yet I’m smiling at the thought. It’s all fucked up, back to front and inside out.
“Why did you stop teaching?” It’s out before I think any more about it. If this is give and take, I want some answers. Starting with who he really is.
“It became monotonous,” he replies, his fingers locking into mine as he waits for me to push upwards. I keep staring back, not quite happy with that explanation. “There’s nothing else.” The lie makes me snort as I grip hold of him and heave my weight up. He catches me the moment my legs weaken again, one of his arms pressing directly into the pain on my back, causing me to groan out. “Painful?” The quirk of his lips isn’t funny as I roll my eyes at him and snarl in reply. Screw him. Of course it’s painful. Everything is now painful, all due to him and whatever it was that hit me last night. I thought he said I was separating the pain. I’m not this morning, it appears.
“We’ll have the truth, Blaine. All of it,” I mutter, as I slowly make my way to the bathroom with him, trying to stretch my muscles and ease into the motion of walking. “Or nothing else happens here. Always the truth.”
“Making demands now?”
“I’ve earned my right to know. That fucking cage was hell.”
He doesn’t answer that or give me any indication that I might have earned anything, but he does smile as he leans me against the wall, starts the shower, and then ruffles his dark hair.
“Good morning,” are the next words that come from him as he turns back around. Really? I think we’ve already spoken, haven’t we?
“What?”
He smirks and walks in front of me, his hands bracing either side of my shoulders as he leans in and draws his tongue straight over my nipple, the quick chew on it before he breaks away making me squirm. “Good morning. You said you wanted dates last night, rewards. I’m presuming that means romance, ergo—pleasantries, like saying good morning?”
“Seriously?”
“Mmm. We might even do lunch, go shopping.”
“Okay.” My voice stretches the word out, unsure what the hell’s going on as he drops his head down again and laves at the other nipple.
“Flowers, too?” That’s said as his hand lowers along the wall, slowly manoeuvring itself to my skin and gently stroking my thigh. “Candlelit dinners, sweet whispered words.” My eyes close of their own accord, fascinated by the sound of his voice lulling me into a romance I’ve not heard from him before. “Moonlight serenades, a walk along the beach hand in hand.” I feel the shiver descend, my body forgetting the pain it’s in as he closes the distance between us and brushes his lips across mine. It’s lovely, reminding me of proper dates, the sort I write about. Ones that enthral the heroine, making all her wishes come true. A sigh escapes me as he pushes his hand between my thighs, widening them and flicking gently around the ache that’s building there. “Hostile fucking and romance, is that what you want from me, Alana? The best of both worlds?”
The snatch inside m
e is so quick I hardly feel it happen. It pushes me up the wall as his other hand turns me away from him so my cheek’s squashed into the tiles.
“Do you want me to hold you together or let you crumble?” His fingers splay inside me, the other set slapping at my arse and sending a rally of sensations to collide within my mind. He’s so deep, like I’m perched on top of his hand and doing nothing other than waiting for him to continue. “Shall I just make all the decisions?” A twist of his fingers causes a yelp to come out of me, making me question the movement, but it’s quickly replaced by another sigh as he winds his other hand to my clit and starts rubbing. “Your cunt needs the pain as much as your mind needs the romance, doesn’t it?”
I don’t know. I can’t answer that. It’s a mess of emotions. I’m a mess of emotions, barely recognizing reality when I’m with him, only the quiet it creates when I let go of my concerns.
“Yes.” It’s all I’ve got to answer him with—the truth. It’s what I ask of him, and what I’ll give in return. This is all about truth in some ways, and the slow pull out and then forge back in as he pushes me into the wall only furthers that thought. I’m panting again from nowhere, needy. I can feel my insides quickening against his fingers, willing him harder, deeper.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, his face hovering by mine, his words beginning to whisper into my ear as he increases his pressure on my battered spine. “Talk to me about your truths, Alana. Ask me to fuck you harder than I already have.”
Oh god, and now his mouth is nibbling my neck, his teeth finding their way to my jugular again as his fingers keep rubbing, teasing. I groan. It’s a groan brought up from the depths of me, guttural in its pull as I press my arse into his cock and feel the weight of it pressing back. I’m lost again, any form of rationale disappearing into caverns I’m not searching a way out of. His chest hair scrapes the lacerations he caused, scratching them and reminding me of how weak I am around him.
The End Page 2